


The Prelude

by grandiose



Category: Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Canon Era, F/M, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:28:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26008027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grandiose/pseuds/grandiose
Summary: Set during the opening night of Hannibal, Raoul reminisces about his childhood friend.
Relationships: Raoul de Chagny & Christine Daaé, Raoul de Chagny/Christine Daaé
Kudos: 17





	The Prelude

Glittering jewels on fingers and lavish ballgowns. Gold-topped canes and speckless three-piece black suits. Practically every elite Parisian was present in their best formal finery for the occasion tonight at the Opéra Populaire. A gold-framed display board positioned at the side of the large marble ceremonial staircase read _Opening Night of Hannibal._

A slight commotion was stirring at the opera house’s facade, caused by the arrival of a carriage not unlike the dozen or so coaches before and after it, which was if the two newly appointed managers were not scrambling towards it as though the Queen of England was seated in it. The carriage’s coachman hopped onto the ground and swung open the carriage door with an experienced flourish. A man stepped out at a comfortable adagio, his face and identity masqueraded under the shadow of a brooding top hat. He took his time to take in the grandeur of the building before addressing the two managers. Each sticking to either side of the gentleman like a pair of loyal guard dogs, Firmin and André led their mystery guest up upon the staircase leading into the opera house.

Inquisitive eyes followed the trio, seemingly wondering who the latest guest was and what he did to equate such royal treatment. Their questions were answered when the servant tasked with announcing every guest at their arrival declared:

“Ladies and gentlemen, the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny!”

A sea of heads turned. More whisperings surfaced. Almost as if on cue, Raoul removed his top hat to reveal a face framed by carefully styled golden curls. He was unfazed by the attention he was garnering with every move he made. So what if he came from a family renowned for their insurmountable wealth, or that he was the Opéra's new patron, or he was one born with plentiful good looks to spare and was one of the most eligible bachelor in France? Raoul was used to staring all his life, even more so now in the full bloom of his youth.

He was aware that the two managers were attempting to spur up a conversation, but he had no desire to be part of it. A sense of misslieness had been filling up in him from the moment he stepped into the opera house. He was careful to let his eyes linger a little longer on the brunettes. It had been a habit of his since he was 14 and met _her_. Her with her large doe-like eyes and silvery laugh. She who came into his life just as quickly she left. How he longed to see her again, just for even a second, to prove that their encounter was not a hallucination.

He thought of the first time he laid eyes upon her at an afternoon walk by the sea. He remembered the way her brown locks obscured her face and levitated and danced in the breeze. And her singing. There was no vocabulary vast enough to even attempt to describe how her sweet yet powerful voice rolled over the ocean in euphonious waves and how it had him mesmerised and locked in a trance only broken by her shriek when her red scarf floated into the salty air and landed in the grey waters. Without a second's thought, he had charged into the sea fully-clothed and caught the scarf's tip before tasting the salty metallic sting of seawater as a wave came crashing down on him. He had emerged out of the sea drenched from top to bottom clutching the soaked scarf desperately to himself with his governess's shrill voice ringing in his ears. Only daring to sneak a glance at her, he had thought how idiotic he must look to the girl and was struck to see how her delicate face shone with sweet gratitude and without a hint of ridicule. He remembered her swiftly leaning forward to plant a soft kiss on his cheek and how he prayed his face was not the crimson shade of her scarf. He recalled the warm bubbly sensation enveloping him with the following days spent in her company that lingered long after she had left. 

They had reached the top of the grand staircase and were striding along the grand foyer. Only a handful of rotund men conversing boisterously were in their presence. Raoul restrained a deflated sigh. He knew there was little possibility he would chance upon her on this evening, and still a pathetic part of him remained hopeful she would be lingering by the flight of stairs, or the entrance to his opera box (as they were now approaching). In his mind, he could almost picture her regally dressed in evening wear and flashing a winsome smile at him upon noticing his arrival. She opened her mouth and in Andre’s voice stated _“after you, Vicomte._ ”

Raoul flinched as he was wrenched back into reality. Uttering a _thank you_ , he stepped into the opera box and took the seat closest to the stage. All thoughts of her had dissipated, he was determined that he would not think of her for the rest of the night. He flicked through his complimentary programme in an attempt to distract himself. Pausing at the page with the cast listed, he lazily scanned through the countless names tediously crammed after one and another. His hand was positioned to flick to the next page. He paused. He did a double-take at the last column of names.

It couldn’t be.

His heart was pounding. He felt suddenly light-headed. He tried blinking multiple times to test if his vision was deceiving him, but the words proudly emblazoned in ink persisted. His programme was shaking from his trembling hands. There was no mistaking it. He held one shaky finger and gently caressed her name on the printed paper.

**_Christine Daaé._ **

_Can it be,_ he thought, _can it be Christine?_

Without warning, the opera house’s lights dimmed.


End file.
